


dance the night away

by lesyeuxdelilith



Series: two halves of a whole [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Ballroom Dancing, Changing Tenses, Dancing Lessons, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, F/F, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Scars, Sloppy Makeouts, Teen Romance, Young Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxdelilith/pseuds/lesyeuxdelilith
Summary: After an interesting Transfiguration class, a certain Gryffindor bookworm plucks up the courage to ask one curly-haired Slytherin girl to be her date for the Yule Ball.Years later, Hermione gives Bellatrix what she’s owed.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: two halves of a whole [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047382
Comments: 4
Kudos: 156





	1. I: 1994.

**_November 25th, 1994._ **

“So… Tell me about your day.”

Our legs dangled over the Black Lake’s cold waters, swaying back and forth. Your pale hand rested atop mine, a tad smaller than my own. I licked my lips, giddy with excitement. _“Familiar, patient, reassuring, all-consuming…”_ Significantly rougher than mine, coated with various calluses and tiny scars, but just as delicate– if not even more. _“Steadying, warm, gentle, impossibly soft…”_ Our fingers threaded together, our arms shook with quiet laughter, our shoulders brushed against one another.

“A babbling, bumbling band of baboons– what a bloody genius!” You exclaimed, throwing your head back. Your dark curls bounced, swallowing all the light. There was a pause, a brief moment of thoughtful silence, followed by a throaty giggle. “So the kitty’s been teaching her lordly lions how to prance, hmm? That must have been rather- ah, tasking. Bless that woman’s patience, really.”

My cheeks were alight, but not from the cold. The sound of your real laugh never ceased to amaze me, to send shivers running down my spine, to make me blush. “Indeed,” I replied with a small smile. “The boys kept joking around, though. Ronald made a mean comment aloud, which is probably why Professor McGonagall had him dance with her.” 

Placing your free hand above your heart, you gasped dramatically. “Who would have thought? The kitty does have a sense of humour!” I shook my head, chuckling in spite of myself. Your theatrics always made me laugh, no matter what. “Circe’s tits… I’d have loved to see that.”

“It was entertaining. What about you? How did your dance practice with Professor Snape go?”

You raised one eyebrow, smirking. There was a mischievous glint in your onyx eyes, one that I knew far too well by then. “Put your right hand on my waist, Mister Malfoy,” you drawled, imitating Professor Snape’s manner of speech. Inevitably, I chuckled again. Seeming quite pleased with yourself, you shrugged one shoulder. “While that sounds highly amusing, I’m afraid we didn’t have such a thing. Purebloods are expected to know such basic things from birth, you see.”

Gathering all of my Gryffindor bravery, I nodded. “Now that you mention that…” You looked at me, clearly intrigued. “Do you think you could teach me? How to dance? I could use some extra lessons, to be honest.”

“Er– sure. Room of Requirement, tonight after dinner,” you said, nonchalant. I knew better, though, and saw right through your act. You cleared your throat, looked away from me and bit your lower lip. “If that’s okay with you, that is.”

“Of course it is!” I replied, pulling you close with my free arm. Your hand stilled, then squeezed mine. My mouth curved into a wide smile. “Thank you so much, Bella!”

I separated from you, still beaming. There was a faint blush on your pale cheeks, I noticed so with great reverence. You looked beautiful– even more so than usual. I was absolutely transfixed.

“Don’t mention it, pet.”

After an hour or two, the time to say our goodbyes arrived. None of us wanted to part ways just yet, so I made use of my Gryffindor courage once again: I leaned forward and kissed your cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?” 

_“I did it,”_ I thought whilst watching you nod wide-eyed. _“I rendered the almighty Bellatrix Black completely speechless.”_

I left, not without giving your hand one last squeeze first, and headed towards the Great Hall with a bright smile on my face. I could have easily summoned a Patronus right then and there. Ginny noticed this right away, so she wiggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner. I shook my head, blushing profusely, and whacked her arm playfully. She was so embarrassing. A couple of minutes later, you entered the Great Hall, still looking a bit flustered. When you joined Andromeda, who was practising some Transfiguration spells on her calyx, our eyes met for a fleeting moment. I smiled, you smirked, we both looked away.

“Looks like Black is a bit red in the face,” Ginny whispered into my ear, all happiness and mockery. I chuckle, reaching out for some bread. “I wonder why.”

Smiling nervously, I looked at her. “Who knows? Maybe someone held her hand, kissed her cheek?” I teased, keeping my voice low. While my best friend was well aware of my feelings for you, Harry and Ron weren’t. Hiding things from them pained me, but they simply wouldn’t understand. “I don’t know. Maybe, just maybe…”

Ginny shrieked with glee, drawing everyone’s attention. 

“What are you two gossiping about?” Ron questioned dryly, pointing at us with his fork. He was still grumpy, much to our eternal chagrin.

“Nothing in particular, really, just– chatting about the Yule Ball,” I replied, scratching my cheek. Ginny mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ whilst her brother paled even further. “You should ask Professor McGonagall for a dance, Ron. Return the favour, you know?” I found myself saying. I spent far too much with you– not that you’d ever hear me complaining. 

Ron shook his head, mortified. “Absolutely not!”

“What? Why not?” Harry mocked, thoroughly amused. He smirked, elbowing his best friend. In the meantime, I looked away, wanting to find your onyx eyes again. I beamed when I met your gaze, though you remained expressionless– until you smirked, winked and focused back on Andromeda, leaving me a blushing mess. “Look, mate,” I heard Harry say. “You have to admit that McGongall’s got some moves.”

  
The whole table laughed, much to poor Ron’s horror. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Hey, took you long enough.”

You rolled your eyes and bowed in an overly exaggerated manner. “My most sincere apologies, your Ladyship,” you said dryly. “My dearest sister needed my assistance with her Transfiguration and Potions assignments.”

With a snort of amusement, I watched you open the Room of Requirement.

I gasped, marvelled at the breathtaking sight before us, though you seemed awfully bored. Unimpressed. _“Must be one of Black Manor’s many ballrooms,”_ I guessed, studying intently the beautiful mahogany walls, the glinting chandelier, the black tides that covered the floor, the ancient tapestries that decorated the place. The room alone screamed of age, wealth and power.

“You are gonna catch Phoenix shit, pet.”

Flustered, I closed my mouth. Your throaty chuckles echoed through the room, haunting me once again. “Er- sorry. This place is beautiful, Bella.”

You hummed, emotionless. “I suppose. Anyway, enough of that.” With a flick of your wand, you summoned an ancient-looking gramophone. All silver and black, much to nobody’s surprise. Better kept than the one McGonagall had used during the pseudo-Transfiguration class, that was for certain. “I will be leading the dance... If that’s okay with you.”

I nodded, smirking at the thought that crossed my mind. Funny how you were going to lead the dance, really, considering that you were shorter than me– without your high-heeled boots, that is. _“Well, her confidence does make her look larger than life, so there’s that.”_

“Put your left hand on my shoulder,” you instructed, placing your right one on my waist. Once again, my cheeks were on fire. You held my free hand, this time with far more conviction than mere hours ago, nodding to yourself. “Alright. Un, deux, trois.”

Trembling, I followed your lead. 

You were patient, though strict. Correcting every single misstep, guiding my movements with great care, holding me steady in case I tripped, smiling reassuringly whenever I got something right after much trial and error. You made me feel safe, confident in myself. _“You’ve always been a great teacher, Bella.”_

“This brings me back, you know?” I whispered, chuckling softly when you spun me around effortlessly. “Remember our first year? You _begrudgingly_ taught me so many spells, how to duel, how to defend myself—”

“Because Quirrell was an incompetent, sorry excuse of a professor. Yes, I vividly remember that. What of it?”

I licked my lips, nodding along with a smile. “At one point, I… Well, I was fascinated by your duelling technique. Still am, to be honest.” You beamed, basking in the praise. “I recall saying that your movements reminded me of– er, a dance. You laughed, explained the basis of your technique, told me how duelling made you feel, then said that you would never teach me how to dance. Told me to learn by myself.”

“I think you are mistaken, pet. I am positively sure that I said no such thing.”

The music came to an end, leaving us pressed against one another. When the song started again, none of us made a move. Your eyes were studying my features, devouring me alive. Your body was hot against mine, but I craved that warmth with every single inch of my being. Inevitably, I fell into temptation and looked at your plump lips. So taunting, so dangerous, so inviting. 

My heart fluttered, skipping a beat or two when you cupped my cheeks. You caressed my flushed skin, leaning forward ever so slightly. Your breath mingled with mine. My hands travelled down, finding solace in your hips. Then, I closed the space between us, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss.

Time seemed to stop.

I could only focus on how _right_ everything felt. Your lips against mine, kissing back just as eagerly. Your body pressed against my own, sending delightful shivers running down my spine. Your hands stroking my burning cheeks, making me smile into the kiss. Your sweet, intoxicating scent, overwhelming my senses. _“Freshly fallen rain, cinnamon and sandalwood.”_ The taste of pumpkin juice that lingered on your impossibly soft lips. 

When I parted from you, breathless, I was fascinated. Your pupils were blown, engulfing your brown irises whole. A bottomless sea of black. Your cheeks were reddened, your lips shimmered underneath the chandelier’s dim light. “Go to the Yule Ball with me, Bella.”

That broke the spell. 

Fear crossed your face, sobering us both in a matter of seconds. Suddenly, the room felt cold. _Awfully so_. You shook your head, pulling away from me. My body shuddered from head to toe, already missing your warmth. What had I done wrong, I wondered.

“No, no, no,” you mumbled, touching your lips. Your hand was trembling. “I– _Hermione_ , we cannot do this. What about the rumours, the nasty looks, your _friends_ —” your eyes darted around, searching for an escape. You were out of your element, scared out of your mind. I took a step forward, you took two steps back. “I cannot do this. Not now. I– I just can’t.”

You left me behind, confused and in pain.

Tears welled up in my eyes. “Foolish,” I told myself, unable to look away from where you’d stood mere moments prior. I gulped hard, letting the cold tears fall. “Foolish, foolish girl.”

Two weeks later, Viktor Krum approached me in the library. You had disappeared, vanished into thin air, so I took refuge in there again. He smiled sweetly, looked at me with awestruck eyes, made me feel giddy with anticipation. “Herm-own-ninny, vould you like to go to the Yule Ball vith me?” 

I just couldn’t say no to him.

* * *

  
  


**_December 25th, 1994._ **

When I spotted you in the Great Hall, standing arm in arm with Rabastan Lestrange, I felt my world go dreadfully cold. _“Get a hold of yourself, Hermione! Bella doesn’t feel anything for him, you know that,”_ I tried to remind myself over and over. I repeated those words like a mantra, desperate to the core. _“Or Rodolphus, for that matter.”_

I took a deep breath, mustering all my strength, then looked at you again. 

Your short curls were somewhat straightened. _Wavy_ . You wore makeup, but not much, just a tad– eyeshadow and rich red lipstick. Gods, how I wanted to kiss the living daylights out of you, kiss you until I was blue. You were gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking, clad in that jaw-dropping green — satin, most likely — dress of yours. _Deep_ green, which complemented your silver jewellery. The dark crow necklace I’d given you for your last birthday rested atop your cleavage, though, a striking contrast with your fair skin. You also wore your beloved corset, which highlighted your already lovely figure. I smiled, grimly so, when I noticed your heels. You were no Veela, but I was completely enthralled. 

“Herm-own-ninny,” said Viktor. I looked at him, feeling awfully guilty for ignoring him, and smiled. He gently clasped my hand and kissed my knuckles in a sweet, gentlemanly manner. “Vould you like to dance again?”

“Yes, please.”

For better or worse, I somehow lost sight of you.

Later that night, I spotted Harry and Ron. I came over, sat beside them, and smiled.

“Hi,” said Harry. Ron didn’t say anything. Despite the upbeat atmosphere, neither of them looked precisely enthused. 

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” I said, fanning myself with my hand. “Viktor’s just gone to get some drinks, would you like to join us?”

Ron gave me a withering look which made me shudder. “Viktor?” He questioned acidly, his eyes flashing with ire. “Hasn’t he asked you to call him Vicky yet?”

I looked at him in surprise. “What’s up with you?”

“If you don’t know,” said Ron scathingly, “I’m not going to tell you.”

I stared at him in disbelief, then at Harry, who shrugged. He looked tired, uncomfortable, whereas Ron was beyond livid. 

“Ron, what—?”

“He’s from Durmstrang!” Ron finally spat. I straightened my back, shocked. “He’s competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You- you’re—” Ron was obviously casting around for words strong enough to describe my apparent crime. “Fraternizing with the enemy, that’s what you’re doing!”

My mouth fell open. “Don’t be so stupid!” I said after a moment, trying hard not to raise my voice more than necessary. “The enemy! Honestly– who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who called him an artist whilst complimenting his Quidditch skills? Who’s got a model of him up in their dormitory?”

Ron chose to ignore this. He didn’t have any proper counter-arguments, it seemed. “I s’pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?”

“Yes, he did,” I said, the pink patches on my cheeks glowing more brightly. The room was definitely getting way too hot for comfort. I tried not to think of you, of your beautiful blown eyes, your soft lips, your imminent panic, your bitter rejection. “So what?”

“What happened– trying to get him to join _SPEW,_ were you?”

“No, I wasn’t! If you really want to know, he– he said he’d been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage!” I said this very quickly and blushed so deeply that I was the same colour as Parvati’s robes. _“And because I’d been hiding in my room after Bella’s rejection.”_

I gulped hard, coming to a conclusion. If Ron, one of my so-called best friends, couldn’t accept that I had gone to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, he would never accept my feelings for you. You, who had ridiculed him for years in Defense Against the Dark Arts. You, who was a renowned Slytherin– their golden Seeker, at that. You, who suffered from your parents’ sins day after day after day. I clenched my fists and narrowed my eyes. 

“Yeah, well– that’s his story,” said Ron nastily, blissfully unaware of my line of thought.

Furious, I screamed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” People were beginning to stare at us, whispering amongst themselves.

“Obvious, isn’t it? He’s Karkaroff’s student, isn’t he? He knows who you hang around with… He’s just trying to get closer to Harry — get inside information on him — or get near enough to jinx him—”

I bet I looked as though Ronald had slapped me. That was definitely how I felt. When I spoke, my voice quivered. “For your information, he hasn’t asked me one single thing about Harry, not one—”

Ron changed tack at the speed of light. “Then he’s hoping you’ll help him find out what his egg means! I suppose you’ve been putting your heads together during those cosy little library sessions—”

“I’d never help him work out that egg!” I said, feeling absolutely outraged. “Never. How could you say something like that– I want Harry to win the tournament! Harry knows that, don’t you, Harry?”

Poor Harry, always caught in the middle of our arguments, nodded sheepishly. He cracked a little smile, trying to reassure me. At that, the pressure in my chest lightened up ever so slightly.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” sneered Ron.

“This whole tournament’s supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and witches and making friends with them!” I said hotly, recalling how Ron had been swooning for Fleur Delacour and some other Beauxbaton students up until then.

“No it isn’t!” Ron shouted, staggering to his feet. “It’s about winning!”

The people’s whispers grew ten times louder, a hundred times more entertained. _“Bloody gossips indeed. Looks like you were right, Bella. Disappointed, but not surprised.”_

“Ron,” said Harry quietly. He stood up, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder, then looked at me. “I haven’t got a problem with Hermione coming with Krum—”

But Ron ignored Harry too. “Why don’t you go and find Vicky, he’ll be wondering where you are.”

“Don’t call him Vicky!” I said whilst I jumped to my feet. I shook my head, blinking back tears, and stormed off across the dance floor. I could feel his eyes on me, though, watching me go with a mixture of– of anger and satisfaction, I assumed.

Ignoring the bypassers’ intrigued looks, I ran away with no actual direction in mind. I just needed some fresh air, desperately so. 

Upon finding a secluded corner in the courtyard, I fell to my knees. Not even bothering to cast a warming charm on me, I sobbed. My body rocked nastily, my heart writhed in pain. _“How could you accuse me of such things, Ron?”_ I thought, biting my lower lip hard. _“Why does it always come to this_ – _to us arguing, to me running away in tears?”_

Feeling a sudden warmth enveloping me like a thick, fluffy blanket, I gasped.

“You are going to catch a cold, pet.”

“Bella…” I mumbled, looking at you in disbelief. There were some snowflakes on your hair, making you look– stupidly adorable. The tip of your nose was red. “What are you doing here?” You shrugged one shoulder, shifting your weight back and forth from one leg to the other.

Taking a step forward, you tilted your head. “Am I not allowed to check on my– on you?”

“I– yes, of course,” I replied, watching you sit down beside me. “I wasn’t expecting you to– to come after me, is all. I’m sorry.”

You hummed, placing a hand atop mine. “How many times have I told you to expect the unexpected, pet?” You tutted, smirking a bit. “Seriously, you need to listen to me more often.”

“Bella…” I cried, burying my face on the crook of your neck. _“Sandalwood, cinnamon, a touch of perfume–_ _lavender, just like mine.”_

“It’s alright, Hermione…” You mumbled, resting your head on mine. Delightful shivers ran down my spine when you breathed my name. Then, you gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Weasel is a prat. I’ll kindly hex him into the next millennium- well, maybe not the next one, considering that it still is 1994, but definitely the following one.”

That made me laugh. “Please don’t,” I defended weakly. “He– he just has the emotional range of a teaspoon, is all.”

“He was jealous.”

I hummed, nuzzling your warm skin a bit. Your statement made an awful amount of sense, all things considered. The nasty looks, the cutting words, the offending attitude… Yes, everything made so much sense. 

“So was I, actually,” you continued, drawing nonsensical figures along my skin with your thumb. Knowing you, they probably had some sort of underlying meaning awaiting to be discovered. “Seeing you with Viktor _fucking_ Krum, dancing with him, smiling because of him… For him… I– I wanted to claw his eyes out, rip his throat apart.”

And I believed you. How could I possibly not? “I felt the exact same way when I saw you arm in arm with Rabastan,” I chuckled wetly, feeling you go awfully stiff at the mention of him. I swallowed, exhausted. “Why did you push me away, Bella? After I kissed you in the Room of Requirement?”

Sighing, you sat upright. Your neck cracked, stiff joints popping back into place. I kept looking at the snowy ground. “Well– I… Hermione,” you said, tilting my chin up. “Listen, I’m not good with– er, emotions. Experiencing them, expressing them, putting a name on them– I’m awful at that.” Your onyx eyes searched for mine, shimmering with a burning intensity that took my breath away. “When you kissed me, I felt at– at peace. I’d been waiting for that to happen since third year, to be honest.”

I blushed, recalling the time we’d almost kissed at the infirmary. 

During the Slytherin versus Hufflepuff match, you had fallen from your broom. One of the Dementors had nearly sucked your soul out. Though Dumbledore had slowed your momentum, you still had hit the ground pretty badly. The sickening thud had been nothing but audible. You had been out of consciousness for two entire weeks, giving me — and poor Andromeda — the scare of my life. When you woke up, I got– carried away. Hugged you close, stayed mere inches away from you. Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey walked in, nigh-on hysteric, and brought me back to my senses. Something changed between us that day.

“However,” you said, tilting your head to the side. “I– I panicked, okay? My reputation precedes me, Hermione.” Your beautiful eyes lost their shine, your powerful voice became subdued. “The heiress of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, a pureblood elitist family. The daughter of two prominent Death Eaters, one of which tortured Longbottom’s parents into insanity and got away with it. The Slytherin Quidditch team’s Seeker. The deranged bitch who cackles out of nowhere, who takes pleasure in duelling the living daylights out of everyone.” You listed the names everyone called you behind your back in a monotonous, almost lifeless voice. I squeezed your hand, offering you a reassuring smile.

“I know better than that, though,” I said after a while, cupping your cheek with my free hand. “You are not your parents’ sins, Bella. You haven’t called me, or any other Muggle-born, a mudblood since first year. You are an amazing Seeker, what about it? Let everyone bemoan that you catch the Golden Snitch almost all the time!” You chuckled wetly, trying to flash that prideful smirk of yours to no avail. “You enjoy duelling because it makes you feel _free_ , remember? And you cackle because– because your parents are cruel, cruel people. Monsters who have hurt you time and time again. You cackle whenever you’re having a nervous breakdown, there’s nothing wrong about that. People are… Mistaken, prejudiced.”

Wiping your tears with my thumb, I caressed your cheek. You leaned into my touch, grateful. “You– you are amazing, have I told you that?” I giggled, rolling my eyes playfully. “Your friends hate me, Hermione.” And back to the heartrending conversation, the ugly truth. “You deserve someone who can– show you off. Someone who can walk with you hand in hand, sit with you at the Gryffindor table during lunch. Someone who won’t have to hide you– and the other way round.”

“This isn’t about them, Bella,” I blurted out. “I couldn’t care less about what they thought, especially after what’s happened tonight. Forget about them, please. This is about you and me, about _us_.”

The light returned to your beautiful onyx eyes. You leaned forward, closing the distance between us a bit. _Definitely not enough._ I blushed profusely, shivering when your free hand rested atop my waist. “Promise me you won’t regret this– _any_ of this.” 

“I promise.”

Thus, we sealed the promise with a passionate kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English isn't my first language, so all mistakes are mine :)
> 
> Dear Bellatrix here is inspired by this beautiful artwork, please give it a look! Ugh, I'm such a sucker for short-haired Bella. Considering this takes place during Goblet of Fire, its alternate title should be "The year (mostly) everyone forgot to get a haircut and Hermione got the girl" but oh well.
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/k-yon/art/Harry-Potter-Younger-Bellatrix-Lestrange-740826735


	2. II: 1998.

**_December 25th, 1998._ **

  
  


Flustered, I smile at the sweet memories playing behind my eyelids. _“Has it really been four years?”_ My lips tingle, longing for yours. My body shudders, craving your warmth. 

“Hermione, are you ready to– sweet Merlin…”

Ginny comes to an abrupt halt, gawking at me in utter disbelief. Her mouth curves into a wide, bright smile. “Look at you! Hermione, you look absolutely dazzling!”

Blushing profusely, I look in the mirror again. “You really think so?” I ask in a small voice, going over my attire for the nth time in a row.

I straightened my untamable curls with a Skeekazy’s Hair Potion mere minutes ago, but the ends are getting curly already. I am not wearing any makeup except for some chapstick, which makes my lips look a bit glittery. I am wearing the silvery panther skull that you gave me before the Battle of Hogwarts, my very own lucky charm. As for the outfit itself… According to your mischievous little sisters, my dress is supposed to complement yours. Mine is a rich forest green, made of the finest silk I have ever seen– or touched, for that matter. It clings to my body, hugging my figure quite nicely. It has a pronounced v-neck, but it’s nothing overly indecent. The dress comes with long sleeves– I tug at them sometimes, a nervous tic I developed after the skirmish at Malfoy Manor, to make sure that the degrading slur your father carved into my skin all those months ago is hidden away from view. I am also wearing heels, but something tells me that they’re shorter than yours. The silly thought makes me smile. 

“You really think so?” Ginny repeats in a mocking voice, waving her hand dismissively. “Girl, I _know_ so!” Our eyes meet in the mirror. Hers are glowing with pride, glee and something akin to mischief. Oh lord, here comes the cheeky comment… “Seriously, Black is such a lucky bitch. Go get her, tiger.”

“Hey, don’t call my girlfriend that!” I laugh, smacking her arm playfully. Old habits die hard. “You are absolutely embarrassing, Ginny Weasley.”

With a snort of amusement, she holds her hands up good-naturally. “Yes, yes… I’m an amazing friend, I know, love you too. Come on, we’re going to be late!” Her reassuring smile changes into a cheeky grin. “And you don’t wanna keep dearest Bella waiting, do you?”

Sighing in an overly dramatic manner, I shake my head. “You’re totally right,” I drawl, walking towards the door whilst holstering my wand. Two could play this game. “Let’s go, I’m sure Harry is _dying_ to see you in that lovely red dress of yours.”

Three, two, one… “Now you’ve done it, this is war!”

We arrive at Great Hall about ten minutes later, still bickering and out of breath. Ginny promptly excuses herself, making a not-so-subtle beeline towards The Boy Who Lived Twice, while I search for you. You are nowhere to be seen, much to my dismay. A bit disheartened, I bite my lower lip.

“Blimey, ‘Mione…” A familiar gruff voice says, scaring the life out of me. Stepping in front of me, Ronald clears his throat, looking apologetic. “Sorry, didn’t notice you were distracted. You– you look very pretty tonight.”

I smile, but the action feels awfully forced. Things between us became rather awkward after I turned him down in the Chamber of Secrets during the Battle of Hogwarts– so much so that I inadvertently told Harry about my feelings for you in the midst of a very, very long rant. He took the news exceptionally well, much to my surprise. Said he already knew. As for Ronald… Well, we have been dancing around each other for more than half a year now, unsure of what to do, of what to say. For better or worse, it seems like he has finally summoned all of his Gryffindor courage again.

“Don’t worry. And thank you, Ron. You’re looking quite good yourself.” I reply, eyeing his robes with newfound interest.

And he is, he really is. He is sporting a navy-blue jacket with a white shirt tucked in equally navy-blue pants… And a silly little orange bow tie. My soul aches for him, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Not when my heart belongs to you.

“R-Really? Thanks!” He laughs, blushing a bit. He scratches the back of his head, looks around us a bit nervously, stares at some dancing couples, offers me a goofy grin. “Uh, would you– er, would you like to dance with me?”

Anxious, I lick my lips. I really don’t want a repeat of the last Yule Ball. I’ve had enough fighting for an entire lifetime. “Sorry, but I’m actually looking for my date. We were supposed to meet here five minutes ago.”

“O-Oh,” Ron stutters, looking somewhat discouraged– okay, definitely the understatement of the year. “That’s fine, I-I suppose. Where is he? Do I know him? I can help you find him if you want.”

“There’s no need for that, thank you...” I perk up at the sound of your husky voice. “ _She_ is right here.”

Ron goes awfully stiff, his brown eyes flashing with hostile distrust. You snort, clearly amused, and wrap your arms around my stomach. I can feel your front pressed tightly against my back, which sends delightful shivers down my spine. You have grown so, so cheeky over the last few years. A shameless façade that fits you like a glove. 

“Sorry I’m late, pet,” you whisper into my ear, pressing a quick kiss to my neck. I shiver, fearing Ron’s reaction– he looks absolutely baffled. “I had to make sure that those two blokes over there behaved accordingly, you see. No funny business with my baby sisters allowed, thank you very much.” There’s a small pause, a moment of excruciating silence, before you hum. “Oh… Hullo, Weasel.”

“You cannot be serious– _this_ is your date?” Ron questions darkly, redder than his hair. “A bloody Death Eater! Have you lost your damn mind?”

“Listen here,” I hiss through gritted teeth, bristling with indignation. You tense up behind me. “First of all, Bella is _not_ a Death Eater, understood? She—”

Ron lets out a raucous laugh, getting hot under the collar. “Oh, so it’s _Bella_ now?” Jealous, he is jealous. 

“Has been for the last seven years,” comes your dry reply. And just like that, the poorly hidden secret is out. “Do try to keep up, Weasel.”

“Bella, please don’t antagonise him…” I plead softly, trying to salvage the already unsolvable situation. Adding heat to heat only makes things hotter, after all.

Various couples stop dancing, intrigued by our unconventional little group. I’m afraid that their curious glances aggravate things further, adding pressure to the awfully delicate conversation. This is no repeat of the last Yule Ball. No, not at all. This is even worse... This is a ticking time bomb about to blow up in my face.

Ron gawks at us, mortified. He runs his trembling hands through his growing hair, pale with rage. “The last seven years… You’ve been all buddy-buddy with– with this deranged bitch behind our backs! With the enemy!” He spits, taking a step back. “How… How could you?”

“I do not owe you an explanation, Ronald Weasley!” I scream back, catching everyone’s attention. You try to pull away from me, but I place one hand atop yours. An unspoken request. _Stay, I cannot do this without you._ “Who I am friends with is none of your business, but guess what? I’m going to indulge you– Bella has been helping me out all these years. Did you really think I came up with all those schemes on my own?”

Harry appears behind him, grabs his shoulders, gives him a gentle yet firm shake. “Ron, let it go. We all saw Black duelling against the Lestrange brothers together with Hermione.” The Boy Who Lived Twice gulps hard, not looking very lively at the moment. He offers me an apologetic smile.

You pretended to be part of Voldemort’s army during the Battle of Hogwarts, catching everyone by surprise when you changed sides. We were ‘duelling’ against each other when Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange stepped forward, joining your side. They wore matching, sadistic grins. After a couple of intentionally missed spells, you lunged forward– turned around, aimed at Rodolphus and screamed at the top of your lungs, “ _Sectumsempra!_ ” whilst I opted to _Stupefy_ his younger brother. Everyone gawked at us, flabbergasted. You snorted, rolled your eyes and said, “ _Get your shit together, we’ve got a war to win!_ ”

“Black was a spy, Ron, just like Snape,” Harry continues, bringing me back to the present moment. “I– I saw it in his memories that day.”

Upon hearing those words, Ron visibly falters. He nods at Harry, shaken, and looks at me. “I-Is she the reason why… Y’know…” He waits, I smile, you let out a confused groan. “I-I see… Actually, no. I don’t understand… Why her, ‘Mione?”

“That’s a very good question,” I reply wistfully, giving your warm hands a gentle squeeze. Your body relaxes against mine. The danger has passed. “I feel whole when I’m with her. She makes me happy,” I tilt my head, facing you for the first time tonight. You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. Your eyeshadow highlights your mesmerising onyx eyes. “You make me happy, Bella. You really do.”

A rare smile stretches your rosy lips and warms your eyes.

Sighing wearily, Ron bites his lower lip and looks outside the window with a thoughtful expression. He cracks his knuckles over and over, distracted. I know that look… There’s a war going on inside his head.

Seemingly disappointed with the lack of drama, everyone returns to their dates. “Bloody gossips,” you grumble under your breath. The conversations come back to life, the couples start waltzing to the music of the small orchestra directed by Flitwick, giggles echo through the entire ballroom. As though nothing had happened. Ginny winks at us, Harry nods at me, Neville gives me a thumbs up from afar… Even McGonagall is offering me a reassuring smile. You sigh, threading our fingers together. A sudden thought reigns over my mind.

I haven’t seen you just yet.

Ron clears his throat, catching our attention once more. “What about her family, Hermione? Won’t they, y’know… Try to kill you?” He scratches the back of his head again. “For being a Muggle-born, I mean.”

You cackle. “What family? There are only four of us left– Siri, Drommie, Cissy and yours truly,” you trail off for a moment, thoughtful. “Well, I _guess_ some of the old coots are still alive, but nobody gives a Dementor’s ass about them.”

“So… You were a spy? You weren’t an actual Death Eater?” Ron asks you warily, looking somewhat ashamed. 

“Uhm, yeah– are you hard of hearing or something?” You answer. I can practically hear the sarcasm dripping from your voice, drenching the floor beneath us. “I did take the Dark Mark, mind you. The process wasn’t particularly– ah, pleasant. But yeah, I was _not_ a real Death Eater. I just played the part, did what was necessary to keep my sisters safe.”

I grimace, thinking back on the night you drunkenly told me about the initiation process you had undergone in order to join Voldemort’s inner circle. There was blood oozing from your arm, from the Mark; darker than black.

_“The Dark Lord chose Snape as my godfather,”_ you tsked, chugging another glass of firewhiskey. I didn’t have the heart to stop you. _“Didn’t know what that meant until I saw the ceremonial dagger. Pretty, shiny. Heavily cursed, had some ancient runes all over the silvery blade. Walnut handle, ironically enough. Anyway. He– er, Snape carved the outline of the Dark Mark into my forearm. Panicked a bit. Nagini spewed venom inside the wound. That sealed the deal, I suppose. My skin stitched back together, darkened around the edges and voilá!”_ You rolled your sleeve up, showing me the Dark Mark whilst cackling nonstop. I held you close, listening to your breathless sobs with tears welling up in my eyes. 

Ron’s gruff voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

“You are deranged.”

I flare my nostrils, ready to give him a proper scolding– but you just snort, hugging me closer.

“Tends to happen when daddy dearest uses the Cruciatus curse on you for about a decade or so,” you reply nonchalantly. You keep your face devoid of emotion, hiding beneath a mask of indifference. “No biggie.”

Ron nods grimly, then sighs. “I’m sorry… For having made a scene, for being such a prat… _Again._ ” We both laugh at that, sharing a knowing look. You groan, confused. I still have to fill you in on so many things. “I care about you, ‘Mione. I really do. If– Bellatrix makes you happy, then I’m happy too. I just need some time to get used to this.”

“Still have a problem with me, I see…”

“You’ve ridiculed me for years,” Ron replies matter-of-factly, though his words lack bite. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You have been calling me awful names for years, dearie. Remember the Boggart incident?” Ron looks away, breaking out in a sweat. “That’s what I thought. Seriously, even _Cissa_ wanted to hex you.”

“Damn...”

“Believe me, I know.”

Ron opens his mouth again, ready to ask more questions, but you hold one hand up. “Circe’s tits… Enough is enough, you are worse than a first-year,” you growl, annoyed. “Come on, pet, let’s go somewhere else. You owe me a dance.” 

Giggling, I let myself be carried away. Poor Ron looks absolutely mortified. _Again._ “I’ll see you around, Ron. Have fun!”

I smile, feeling lighter than ever before. _“Everything is going to be alright…”_ Sure, we have made a little scene in the middle of the Great Hall, during the Yule Ball no less, but everything has worked in our favour. _“I have to thank Harry for that…”_ Giddy with anticipation, I look at you– but you cast a spell on me. A black blindfold wraps itself around my eyes, engulfing my field of vision whole.

“Bella!” I pout, feigning annoyance. You snicker. “Don’t be so mean, I want to see you…”

“In all due time, pet,” you sound awfully smug. How unsurprising, I think with a wide smile. “Besides, mean is my middle name.”

We’re going upstairs, sauntering down familiar corridors. I know these halls like the back of my hand, but I decide to play dumb, to indulge you for a while. I giggle, shaking my head a little. “Uh, no. I’m pretty sure that’s Druella.”

“Absolutely hilarious.”

Eventually, we come to a halt. I take a deep breath, hearing large doors creak open. “Alright,” you say, uncharacteristically quiet. You lead me into the room, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Are you ready, pet?”

“Of course, hmph—!” You silence me, kissing me with great fervour. Your hands caress their way up my arms, stopping to cup my cheeks for the briefest of seconds– and tug at the blindfold, letting it fall to the floor unapologetically, before pulling away from me. Not without nibbling my lower lip first, that is.

Turns out I was anything but ready. 

Your chaotic dark curls are gathered in a lovely updo, no doubt courtesy of your sisters, which is starting to come undone. You are wearing an off-the-shoulder gown– _Gryffindor_ red, I realise with a small smile, complemented with some golden jewellery that shines bright underneath the chandelier’s light. Upon seeing your beloved corset, I let out a loud laugh. “You really adore this bloody thing, hm?” I tease, running my hands down your leather-clad waist. The knee-length skirt is a bit darker in colour and wavy, making you look almost ethereal. You are sporting equally red heels, definitely a tad taller than my own. 

“Definitely not the only thing I adore,” you practically _purr_ into my ear, leaving me a quivering mess. You place your left hand atop my scorching cheek, backing away with a triumphant smirk. “Cat got your tongue, pet?”

I gulp, overwhelmed with emotion all of a sudden. My eyes dart around, scanning the room — _“Black Manor again, huh?” —_ before landing on your bare forearm. I cannot help but stare at your scars, feeling mine ache at the gruesome sight. I shake from head to toe, breathing hard. 

After Voldemort’s defeat, the Dark Mark faded away– leaving a myriad of cursed scars behind. Most of them blatantly visible, others nigh-on unnoticeable. Some patches of your skin became discoloured, most likely due to Nagini’s poison.

I gasp for air.

“Hey, none of that,” you whisper. “Come on, look at me…”

And I do. I meet your onyx eyes, so full of warmth and life, until I’m drowning in an endless pit of black. 

Brushing a couple of strands behind my ear, you offer me a smile. Not a smirk, not a grin… An honest-to-God smile. “There you are,” you say, tilting your head to the side. “You still owe me a dance, pet.”

“That I do,” I reply, longing for a gramophone until the Room of Requirement produces one. “Let me take the lead this time, please.”

Amused, you nod. 

We get into position effortlessly, letting ourselves be swayed by the gentle music. I focus on your blown eyes, on the feeling of your hand against mine, on the way our breaths mingle when our bodies come close, on the burning desire I feel when we part. 

Spinning you around, I feel a wave of nostalgia washing over me. _“Here it comes,”_ I muse, pulling you close, _“my favourite part of this dance.”_

The music comes to an end, leaving us pressed against one another. When the song starts again, none of us makes a move. Your eyes are studying my features, devouring me alive. Your body is hot against mine, pleasantly so. I crave that warmth with every single inch of my being. Inevitably, I fall into temptation and look at your plump lips. They’re as taunting, dangerous and inviting as ever.

“See anything you like, pet?” You whisper, cupping my blazing cheeks. You caress my flushed skin, leaning forward ever so slightly. Your lips brush against mine. My hands travel down, finding solace in your hips. 

“Perhaps…” I reply, breathing in your intoxicating scent. You must have taken a bath at the Prefect’s Bathroom before the ball: you smell like pine-needles, cinnamon and sandalwood. “What about it?”

You close the space between us, capturing my lips in a gentle kiss. 

“Promise me you won’t regret this– _any_ of this,” you husk, then run your tongue along my lower lip– asking for permission to deepen the kiss.

I open my mouth, granting you access, whilst pulling you closer. A guttural moan claws at the back of my throat the moment I feel your tongue slide inside my mouth. 

“I promise,” I whisper between heated kisses, each a thousand times more passionate than the prior one. “I promise, I promise, I promise...”

You chuckle into the kiss, carefully pushing me down onto a conveniently placed king-sized bed. _“God bless the Room of Requirement,”_ I muse, relaxing into the comfortable mattress.

“Happy anniversary, Hermione,” you murmur whilst climbing on top of me, leaning forward to leave open-mouthed kisses all over my exposed neck. 

Nope, definitely _no_ regrets on my end. 

“Happy anniversary, Bella.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wrote itself, basically.
> 
> Really, 90% of this has been written at 4 AM on a phone. Again, all mistakes are mine. Especially considering that I only slept three hours and a half today, spent the entirety of my day going over the chapter and am currently running on some energy drinks. 
> 
> Pretty sure it's Bella's fault.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> If you liked this story, please leave a kudo and/or a comment! I’d love to hear your opinions on this work of mine.


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